Schizo
by hurleycat
Summary: Prompt: AU where Phil can see how people can die when they pass by a mirror, and it makes him feel sort of schizo Warnings: Mentions of suicide and self harm, general descriptions of death


Title: Schizo

Prompt: AU where Phil can see how people can die when they pass by a mirror, and it makes him feel sort of schizo

Word Count: 2,475

Warnings: discussions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, general descriptions of death

Disclaimer: if only, if only…

.~.

_He was young when it had started, and Phil still remembers the first time. _

_It was the first time ever that he'd had a friend last long enough to come over to play, and at eight years old, that was a major accomplishment. It was a boy named Grant, who was lively and rambunctious and very loud. _

_"Where's the bathroom?" he'd asked the minute they stepped inside, and Phil had directed him in the right direction. Grant disappeared down the hallway but shouted back a few moments later. "Wait. Where again?"_

_Phil ran down the hallway. "Follow me." He walked slowly to the bathroom and pushed the door open. He flicked the light on. "Here you go."_

_He turn to leave so Grant, who was standing right behind him, could go in and do his business. Just as he was about to leave though, he caught his reflection in the mirror. There was a figure behind him where Grant was, but it didn't look like Grant. _

_The boy behind Phil was pale and thin, not nearly as healthy and plump as Grant. He was wearing a blue gown, kind of like the one Phil's mum sometimes wore to bed. And the strangest thing about not-Grant was that all his tangled, brown hair seemed to have gone missing. _

_Phil spun around quickly. Grant, still healthy and with a full head of hair, stood behind him. "Uh…" Phil stuttered. "So here's the bathroom."_

_He dashed out to the living room to set up video games and never mentioned the strange boy he'd seen in the mirror. _

_6 months later, Grant was diagnosed with leukemia. _

_Two years later, Grant was dead. _

_.~. _

_A few months later, Phil asked his mum why she looked so much older and sadder in mirrors. She laughed and told him to go to bed. "His imagination is running away these days," she'd told his dad later._

_.~._

_ In secondary school, he mostly kept to himself. It was easier that way; it wasn't easy being friends with someone when you knew exactly how they were going to die and weren't able to tell them. _

_He, just like any other kid really, had attracted his fair share of bullies. One was named Mark; he was rough, hardened, and had moved in with relatives here after living in some big city for most of his life. _

_Walking into his first day of PE for the year, Phil groaned when he saw Mark already in his gym clothes and shoving his leather jacket into his locker. He tried to duck out of sight, but Mark saw him. "Eh, Lester!" he shouted. _

_"Mark," Phil grumbled. _

_Mark stepped up beside him and used his shoulder to shove Phil against the end of the locker row. As soon as Phil hit it, he knew there was a mirror there. He glanced up, almost hating himself for the sick curiosity building up, and caught Mark's reflection. _

_Phil gasped. _

_Mark's reflection didn't look any older than he was now. He looked mostly the same, but there was a gaping, bloody hole in his forehead. _

_Phil couldn't bring himself to hate Mark, really. He never could when he knew the kid was going to be dead before he even got out of puberty. _

_.~._

Phil didn't like going out in public. Too many windows and mirrors that could allow him to see the (often gory) deaths of total strangers. He'd tried to go off to university after secondary school, but all the buildings had reflective windows and he had a breakdown mid-semester.

(His professor was going to have a heart attack, the boy who sat behind him in French 101 was going to die in a motorcycle accident, and the girl who'd tried to flirt with him at the sandwich shop was going to drown.)

His mum took him to a psychologist after that, and the psychologist—who was going to die of alcohol poisoning, lying in his own vomit—gave him a prescription for some meds.

The meds didn't help, not that he'd been expecting them to.

But every morning, he dutifully swallowed the white pill and said, "Yeah, I feel great, Mum" despite the fact that he could see her grey-haired, shriveled reflection at the same time.

.~.

He'd only needed to refill his prescription. He had no other reason for being out in public, but he decided to buy a few shirts while he was there—mainly because he hadn't been shopping in a year and most of his clothes had holes.

He was looking some t-shirts when he sensed someone by him. He glanced over just in time to see a boy stumbling to the ground, dropping all the clothes he'd been holding in his arms.

"Hey," Phil said, "You okay?"

The boy looked up at him and smiled. "Yeah, fine, thanks. Just tripped is all." His accent sounded like he was more from the south than here.

Phil crouched down to help gather up the boy's things. He did it slowly so he could get a good look at him.

He was cute, if Phil was being honest. He was strangely tanned for someone living here, and his dark hair flopped casually over his forehead, almost covering one of his brown eyes.

"Thanks," the boy said, taking his clothes from Phil. "I'm Dan."

Phil knew he really shouldn't, but he slowly turned his head to look at the mirror he knew was right behind them. He stared at it for a few moments but was unable to find anything wrong with Dan's reflection. Confused, he turned back to Dan.

"Phil," he said, extending his hand for Dan to shake.

Dan reached his hand out as well, and as they were shaking Phil glanced at the mirror again. This time, he saw: Dan's previously covered wrist was covered in blood-gushing cuts. He whipped his head back to look at Dan's actual hand and saw that his wrist was unblemished.

_I have to stop him, _Phil thought_. _

When their hands finally pulled apart, Dan coughed awkwardly and said, "Well I guess I should go pay for these. Thanks for helping me pick them up."

He started to walk away, but Phil stopped him. "Wait!" he shouted, more loudly than he'd intended. "Could I—uh—get your number?"

Dan smiled.

.~.

He texted Dan late the next day, and they got a pretty good conversation going. It turned out that Dan was indeed from the south, but his parents had sent him up here to stay with his aunt and uncle for the summer—apparently it was intended to be fun but Dan was bored out of his mind.

He lazed around the house happily for the next couple day, almost always having a text conversation going with Dan.

They set up their first date for a coffee shop in town, one that Phil specifically knew didn't have any mirrors. When he got there, Dan wasn't there yet, so he paid for two coffees and sat down.

Dan came in a few minutes later and sat down across from him. Their conversation started up almost immediately, and neither of them even noticed when the waitress brought their coffees.

Phil was struck by how amazing Dan was. Dan could talk about anything and never run out of things to say; his hands gesticulated with every word; his eyes lit up when he got started on something he was particularly passionate about.

He tried to coax Phil into running the conversation, but Phil was perfectly content just listening to Dan talk.

"Tell me about you," Dan eventually said, and Phil shrugged. "Oh, come on."

Phil wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and stared down at the brown liquid. "There's not much to tell," he responded.

The only really interesting thing about Phil was how messed up he was, and that wasn't really something he wanted to tell Dan. He wished there was something _good_ about him to tell Dan.

"People always say that, but it's never true," Dan said. He leaned forward. "You don't live for twenty years and not have anything to tell."

"I lived a pretty sheltered life," Phil grumbled. He hated to be so boring, but he didn't have anything to talk about that wouldn't reveal how totally screwed up he was. Everything interesting about him wasn't exactly first date conversation worthy.

But Dan was staring at him with those wide brown eyes, wanting something out of him. He looked so innocent and kind. He seemed to be so different from the sad, suicidal boy in his reflection.

Dan rolled his eyes and sighed, but he was still grinning.

"Listen, Dan…"Phil let out a long breath. "There's something you should know about me."

"You're actually planning to kidnap me and chop me into bits? You have an evil twin who is probably going to murder me? You're actually a superhero in disguise? You—"

"I'm on antipsychotics because I have schizophrenia," Phil blurted out. He watched as Dan recovered from being interrupted and registered what Phil had just said. Phil licked his lips and added, "But I'm not dangerous, I swear."

Dan leaned across the table to set his hand on Phil's. "See, there is something to talk about, you liar. Besides, I know you're not dangerous. You're like the nicest person I've ever met. Everyone's a little messed up, right?"

.~.

And so they went on another date. And another. And another.

And soon Dan was the only thing Phil could think about. Dan made him feel _good_; even when their dates were in public, and Phil should be on the verge of a breakdown.

And one night, Phil got the chance to return the favor.

"Hey," Phil answered the phone, rifling through the medicine cabinet for his orange bottle. "What's up?"

"Phil? Can we… I dunno, hang out?" Dan's voice was soft and shaky. It was far from his usually joking tone.

Phil squeezed his phone between his shoulder and cheek as he popped open his medicine bottle. "Yeah of course. You okay?"

"Not really. I'll be over in a few minutes."Dan hung up.

Worried, Phil set the phone down and quickly swallowed his pills before dashing downstairs. "Mum!" he shouted. "Dan's gonna come over in a few minutes!"

His mum poked her head out of the kitchen. "Does he want to stay for dinner?" she asked, but she didn't wait for a response as the answer was always _yes_. "Did you take your pills?"

"_Yes_, Mum." He sighed. He didn't know why she was constantly asking him. "I wish I was normal just as much as you wish your son wasn't crazy." He started walking away, but she stopped him.

"Phil, you know I don't—"

"I get it, Mum," Phil interrupted. "Nobody wants their kid to think they see dead people in mirrors. You don't have to defend yourself."

If he was being completely honest, Phil still didn't believe he had schizophrenia. The fact that Grant had died of leukemia and Mark had been killed in a gang fight before the end of secondary school was too unsettling close to what he'd seen in their reflections. But he went along with it, hoping the pills would keep him from seeing the horrific things he saw, but they never helped.

"Dan's here," Phil said before she could say anything. He ran outside to say hi but stopped suddenly when he saw how upset Dan looked. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Dan slowly got out of the car. "Can we go inside?" he said weakly.

Phil nodded, and they walked in together up to Phil's room.

They settled onto Phil's bed, where Dan curled up with his knees to his chest and stared down for a while. "Remember how I told you that everyone is a little messed up?" he eventually asked. He wouldn't look Phil in the eye.

Phil scooted over to sit close to him. "Yeah."

Dan set his head on his knees. "Well. I… I've been… I'm so stupid and now I can't stop and I don't know what to do, Phil."

_No_.

Phil's mind flicked to the reflection of Dan he'd seen in the department store when they first met.

"Dan." Phil set his hand on Dan's arm. "Can't stop what?" He didn't intend for his voice to sound as urgent as it came out.

A sob escaped from Dan's lips as he slowly turned his head to look at Phil. Slowly, he lifted his arm out to Phil. There were lines all up Dan's forearm, some were pink, some barely there, and two of them were very clearly fresh.

_No, no, please_.

Phil felt something in the back of his throat.

No, he wasn't going to cry now. He had to hold it together.

"Dan…" he started to say.

"I'm so stupid!" Dan interrupted, retracting his arm back to curl around his waist. "I don't know what to do, Phil. I can't stop and I just…"

This had to stop now, before it got too far and… and the reflection wasn't just a reflection anymore.

"You're not stupid," Phil said soothingly. He put a hand on Dan's back. "You just… you need help, Dan."

"I don't—"

"Please," Phil begged.

_I can't lose you. Not now. Not like this. Please. _

"I—okay."

.~.

Dan got out of the psychological ward three weeks later. He looked pale and not very well rested, but he said "_absolutely fantastic_" when Phil asked how he was.

If Phil was being completely honest, he was a bit skeptical about whether or not the few weeks in the hospital would be enough for Dan. After all, how much had the doctors helped _him_? How much had their prescriptions helped _him_?

But as they walked to the car together, hand in hand, Phil glanced at the window of a building they passed. At first, he didn't even register what he was looking at and almost turned away, but then he realized that something was strange.

He stopped walking and turned to stare at their reflections.

Dan stopped as well and said, "Phil? What's up?" He adjusted his suitcase on his shoulder and tried to figure out why Phil was staring at a shop window.

Phil didn't respond because he was too busy staring at Dan's reflection.

The Dan staring back at him from the shop window was grey-haired with wrinkles on his face. He held a cane in his hand and hunched forward a little.

It took Phil a second to realize there was a tear on his cheek.

Dan said, "Phil? Are you crying? What's wrong?" He tried to look through the window.

"Nothing." Phil turned back to Dan and slipped their hands together again. He smiled at Dan. "I'm just really happy you're better," he said honestly.


End file.
